She waits patiently to catch his words, feeling slightly better about her own uncertainty when he hesitates before speaking. Perhaps not every other thing in Beqanna has a purpose – or, if they do know their purpose, at least they aren’t completely sure of all of their actions all of the time. The stallion gives a hesitant number and she quirks a smile again, shaking her own head. “No,” comes the murmur of a reply. “That’s not too large at all.” Sloene can’t even count the number of pseudo-sibling she grew up with; she’s not even sure she met them all, though certainly Nera had known each of them by name.
He offers to show it to her, this Orange County, and the little dun mare wonders if she’s simply imaging the enthusiasm (hope, even?) in his voice. If she’s projecting her own bubbling, hopeful feeling about having a home and a family into his quiet words. She’d like to think not – it is nice to think he’d be happy to have her join them there, or as happy as one can be about taking a stranger home. “I’d love to see it.”